A Game of Heroes
by Marianne Silver
Summary: "Attention, attention, all tributes. Should the Avengers intervene in the game play in any way, they, too, must be killed in order for the Games to be won. That is all." His lips curled into a smile. The Avengers' death, on live television. ...he had them now.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, The Avengers, or any associated characters, plotlines, etc. **

**A friend of mine came to me with the following prompt: "I have an idea for you. Why don't you write a mashup of The Hunger Games and The Avengers?' And that was all she said. **

**In a world where the United States stands alone as a now totalitarian government, the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division has been reduced to a shadow of its former self; the Avengers, mere show dogs for the government television channels. **

**In order to punish the remaining twelve of the thirteen states that rebelled against the installation of the new style of government, the president implements The Hunger Games. A boy and girl from each of the twelve states, between the ages of twelve and eighteen, will be selected to compete for survival on national television. The prize? A coveted spot amongst the nation's heroes, the Avengers.**

**But when the Avengers find out what's about to take place, how will they respond?**

**Here's the short prologue.**

* * *

**A Game of Heroes**

**Prologue**

"We made a fine example out of New York," said the voice. "The twelve gave up their rebellious hopes without question."

Steele nodded. Indeed, in the face of New York's total obliteration—and that of parts of surrounding states as a consequence—the remaining twelve states who'd been brave enough to rebel against the installation of the new totalitarian government had quickly surrendered.

"But they must be punished," the voice went on, "as a warning to those who would think to take up arms."

"How?" asked Steele, instantly unsure of why he'd bothered speaking. The voice would tell him all in good time and, no doubt, in great detail.

The voice fell silent for a moment. Steele found himself sitting up a little straighter in anticipation. Now that the war was over, what could they possibly do to ward off further attempts at defiance?

"What better way to strike at the hearts of the people," asked the voice slowly, "than through their children?"

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**Reviews are appreciated. If you have questions, leave a signed review or your email and I shall be in touch. More to come.**


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers, The Hunger Games, or any associated characters and plotlines you see here.**

**A couple of tributes from the second book will find their way into this round of The Hunger Games for reasons to be made clear as the story progresses.**

* * *

**A Game of Heroes**

**Chapter One**

When the communications officer on duty alerted him that he had a high priority incoming video call, Nick Fury pinched the bridge of his nose and moaned inwardly. High priority incoming video calls only meant one thing nowadays: more bad news. It was bad enough that SHIELD was now reduced to telling this new government only what it wanted to hear; did Steele's regime have to keep piling on embarrassing hoops for them to jump through?

"I'll take it in the Vault," said Fury, heading to the video conference room he usually found himself slinking out of when such calls were through. He struck as straight-backed a pose as he could muster, promising himself that he would not let his shoulders slump even one centimeter before the call was over no matter what the call was about.

The Council appeared on the screen, shadowy and imposing as ever. Today, though, they looked particularly grim.

"The President has decided on a punishment for the other twelve rebel states," said the woman, whom he liked to refer to as Thing One. Fury tilted his head back a little in surprise. They'd already smashed all of New York into tiny little pieces. What more could they possibly have come up with in the way of retribution?

Thing Three cleared his throat. "To remind the dissident states that the government will not suffer insurgency, each state is to select at random a boy and a girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen to compete with children from the other states for survival on national television."

'What," Fury chuckled, "like that stupid TV show called Survivor? How is that a punishment?"

The entire Council shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Uh-oh, thought Fury. If whatever was coming next made the Council squirm like that, then his own stomach was likely to turn. "It's a fight to the death, Commander," said Thing Four.

Fury felt his jaw drop, and all the composure he'd summoned was gone. Kids. Killing kids. On live TV. Bile rose in his throat. Forget bombing the hell out of New York; the President had devised the unthinkable. Adults killing other adults would have been a little bit different. Before the start of this government, in fact, that sort of thing happened every day. But for the most part, kids didn't murder each other. "And they're justifying this how?"

"According to the President, every citizen alive in those states is alive by the grace of the government and the government alone," said Thing Two. "In effect, the government owns their lives."

"That's not all," Thing Three cut in. "When he makes the announcement, President Steele will be promising the winner a spot amongst the Avengers."

"Bullshit," Fury spat out reflexively.

Thing One pursed her lips. "It isn't up for discussion, Commander. Either SHIELD cooperates, or the entire agency will be…taken out."

"Taken out," Fury reiterated. "I assume you don't mean our budget will be slashed."

Things One through Four seemed to exchange knowing looks over their separate video feeds. So, thought Fury, the penny finally drops. It had taken all manner of convincing on the Council's part for SHIELD to remain an active government agency, stripped to the bone though it had been. Fury had known all along, though, that Steele had never liked SHIELD. It had only been a matter of time before Steele found an excuse to put an end to the agency.

Thing Two said, "You are receiving your official orders file now. You will brief the Avengers on their involvement in The Hunger Games immediately."

The Hunger Games, thought Fury as the Council's pictures winked out one by one. What a fitting title, considering how hungry Steele was for power.

* * *

Despite the current circumstances of their time with SHIELD, Steve thought it was nice to see everyone in the same room again. Clint and Natasha sat watching everyone else with those armor-piercing gazes of theirs. Tony and Bruce were hovering over a computer screen, talking in low voices about some project or other of theirs. And Thor, well…when ol' Blondie, as Tony called him, was summoned back to Earth, things weren't good. Loki had been missing from Asgard for four Earth years now. Thor had searched high and low for his "brother," to no avail. Now, Thor stood in a corner of the room with his arms crossed, seemingly deep in thought.

"Good afternoon," said Commander Fury as he swept into the room. He slid each of them a file folder across the table. "Let's get to it. At eight o'clock this evening, President Steele will announce the twelve remaining rebel states' punishment on all broadcast networks."

Steve opened his file to find an odd title splashed across the first page underneath the newly redesigned presidential seal. "The Hunger Games?" Steve asked.

"Each of the twelve states," said Fury, "is being ordered to select a boy and a girl at random to participate in a fight to the death on live TV."

The outcry was almost immediate.

"What?" exclaimed Natasha. Thor asked the same thing with a disbelieving laugh.

"Bullshit," said Tony.

Steve himself, after giving Tony a look for the profanity, said, "You can't be serious."

"I wish I wasn't," Fury replied. "And it only gets better: the winner is promised a spot amongst you all."

"Bullshit!" said Tony again, louder.

"I agree." Natasha was on her feet. "Why would we want a child killer in our midst?"

Bruce folded his arms and snorted. "Because killing was certainly never your profession at all."

Natasha raised a finger, a redheaded bomb about to go off, when Steve gave a warning-toned "Hey" to both Natasha and Bruce. Bruce simply smirked as Natasha sat back down and fumed silently. Steve resisted the urge to introduce his face to his palm. In-fighting was the last thing they needed right now. "Say we refused to participate," suggested Steve.

Fury gave them all a wary look. "Then SHIELD is no more. The President will see to it that we are all taken out."

Silence fell. Steve looked around the room. Everyone seemed to be fidgeting in their seats, minus Thor, who only stood in the same spot looking pensive.

Bruce was the first to speak up. "The winner wouldn't necessarily be a killer," he said. "Maybe just a survivor."

"It does take survival instincts to do what we do," said Clint.

"I, for one, would be impressed with the child's skill," Thor said thoughtfully.

Tony chuckled darkly. "And who doesn't love good reality TV?"

"Alright, folks," said Fury, rapping his knuckles on the table to bring the room back to order. "I take it we'll be participating?"

"I still don't like it," Natasha announced, arms crossed sullenly. "What part did these children play in their parents' rebellion?"

No one had an answer. Steve leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. Children killing each other was certainly not his idea of entertainment; it took a sick bastard to come up with that sort of thing. There had to be a way to save the kids from such a twisted fate, but Steve wasn't yet sure of one.

Surely they'd think of something.

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**Reviews are appreciated. -MS- **


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, The Avengers, and any related characters or plotlines you see here. **

**Thanks to all who have reviewed. I'm glad someone besides me is interested to see where all this goes! **

**Side note: I have rewritten part of Katniss's reaping for the sole purpose of segueing into someone else's thoughts.**

* * *

**A Game of Heroes**

**Chapter Two**

In each state, the pool of children to be selected as "tributes" was randomly narrowed so that the remaining candidates could all converge on one location in the state for television purposes.

Her name was still on Virginia's list of potential tributes.

_Whack. Whack. Whack_. The noise of her ax splintering wood was the only sound she was aware of, and it was pleasing. She'd been working on this particular tree off and on for a couple of days now, ever since she'd received a letter demanding she report to the recently constructed Capitol square on the morning of March 16th. It was an especially large tree compared to the ones her father had allowed her to cut down on her own. In fact, he'd probably get onto her for taking on such a huge project by herself. _Angle the cut the wrong way and that tree could come crashing down on you_. Blah, blah, blah.

Compared to what could await her on March 31st, Johanna almost preferred being crushed by this huge oak. She slung her ax even harder. President Steele's announcement had left her entire family silent; every single one of them had turned and looked to her.

Johanna was fifteen, the oldest out of herself and her two siblings. She was also the only one eligible to be selected for The Hunger Games. Rather than facing them, she'd run out into the cool night air and climbed a tree as high as she could possibly manage. It took an hour for her dad to convince her that spending the night (or however long) in that tree wasn't the best idea. He'd climbed up onto a sturdy branch below her, just talking.

"Think about the odds, Jo," he'd said. "Out of one hundred girls, there's only a slim chance you'll be chosen. If you stay in this tree—and I can't say I'd blame you—the president's men will come looking for you. And I'm not sure either of us would like them getting ahold of you."

She remembered shivering at the thought. Her dad was probably right. Being punished by the presidential army would probably be much worse than just dying at the hands of some strange kid. And that was if she was even picked. "But I don't want to die."

"No one does," her dad had agreed. "But who's to say you wouldn't win?"

That same voice snapped her out of her memories. "Jo?"

The tree was starting to sway. Ignoring her father, she let fly a few more good whacks. The tree began to groan, and Johanna was pleased to see that it was beginning to fall away from her. Although she and her father were the only ones around, she yelled, "Timber!"

When the tree crashed to the ground, Johanna jumped involuntarily. She never had gotten used to the sound. Several birds scattered into the sky.

…even felling this stupid tree did nothing for the unease in the pit of her stomach. She felt her father's hand on her shoulder and turned around to face him. He gave her a smile that she was hardly able to return. "Jo," he said again quietly, squeezing her shoulder. "Best go and pack. You'll be back to swinging that ax in no time."

Johanna bit her lip. Something told her, like it'd been telling her since the president's announcement, that her father was wrong.

* * *

Outside the Capitol building, there were two long lines in front of two tables—one for boys, one for girls. Johanna could see other kids walking away from the tables, shaking their hands and sucking on their pointer fingers. _What are they doing to us_, Johanna wondered.

When she was a few people away from the front of the line, she could see that the people sitting at the tables were taking each kid's finger and sticking them, then squeezing and rubbing the affected finger across a book on the table. _So that's what they're doing with the DNA samples they collected from everyone in the United States,_ she thought. _They're keeping track of us like cattle._

Her turn came, and throughout the short process, she found herself glaring at the person behind the table. It wasn't his fault, of course. He was just a slave to the government. But his actions brought her a couple of steps closer to her very possible death.

_But why would it be me?_ Johanna thought. _It doesn't have to be me. In fact, there's a good chance that it's not me_.

Once the last person had been checked in, the new presidential theme played. President Steele himself appeared on a giant screen set up in front of the Capitol building to remind everyone of the war and why things had come to this. He went on to say what an honor it was for two of Virginia's "young people" to represent their state in The Hunger Games. Last of all, the president said, "Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The phrase made Johanna raise an eyebrow, because it seemed more snide than a sincere expression of best wishes. She was unnerved enough as it was; the president didn't have to be against her, too.

The governor of Virginia—his name escaped her at the moment—stepped up to a microphone on the stage. Two bowls with each of the two hundred children's names were within his arms' reach. A hush fell as he reached into the first bowl. Johanna's heart pounded as he fished out a slip of paper and opened it up to read the name on it. _It's not you, it's not you, it's not—_

"Johanna Mason."

And suddenly, the whole world seemed to be watching her. Somewhere, she heard a woman (her mother) scream her name. A few girls from school who'd also had the misfortune of being summoned here turned to her and stared. What should she do? Pretend it wasn't her? No, they'd find her. How should she handle it? Be strong and walk up to the stage with her head held high?

A strategy suddenly came to her. Strength would only challenge the others to come after her. If she was weak and feeble, then they probably wouldn't give her a second thought. So, Johanna did the best thing she could think of: she pretended to faint.

* * *

The amount of crying Prim had done last night and this morning was impressive, Katniss thought. And though no one would ever catch her crying in such a fashion, Katniss couldn't blame her little sister. Out of several thousand girls in Kentucky, Prim had been put on the shortlist of girls who could be selected as a tribute. Prim had only just turned twelve a couple of months ago. The possibility of her being put into a situation where she'd have to kill or be killed was scary even for Katniss. She couldn't imagine worse for her little sister.

Katniss, too, had been on the list of girls from which a tribute could now be picked. It didn't bother her so much, though. A one in a hundred chance seemed like pretty good odds to her. She squeezed her sister's hand as they stood at attention through a special address from President Steele.

"Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

_Good luck? _Katniss thought. _He doesn't mean that._ They wouldn't be standing here if the president cared whether they lived or died.

"I just love that!" squeaked the woman at the microphone between the two bowls filled with names. Who she was and why she was important, Katniss neither knew nor cared. She just wanted this to be over.

"Well," the squeaky lady said, "let's get to it." She was a bit too happy. "Ladies first." She dug her hand into the bowl and came up with a single slip of paper. Prim buried her face in Katniss's shoulder.

"Shh," Katniss whispered. "It isn't you."

She couldn't have been more wrong. The woman unfolded the slip of paper and leaned in toward the microphone with a too-big smile on her face. "Primrose Everdeen."

Prim looked up, doe-eyed and horror-stricken. She let go of Katniss, taking steps toward the army men who waited to escort her up to the stage. Katniss watched her go with her jaw wide open. Out of the hundred girls waiting outside the federal justice building, couldn't they have picked her instead of Prim? Katniss scrambled through the crowd of girls, even shoving some out of her way. She screamed Prim's name, and Prim turned to look at her. Her little sister's eyes were welling with tears.

Some soldiers rushed forward to hold Katniss back, and something deep within the part of her heart that loved Prim stirred violently. She knew then that she'd rather die than see her sister murdered on live television. Just as Prim reached the steps to the stage, Katniss yelled out, "I volunteer!" Everyone turned to look at her. Breathless from struggling against the strong-armed soldiers, Katniss exclaimed, "I volunteer as tribute!"

* * *

Natasha remained as outwardly emotionless as possible as they watched the highlights of the children being picked for The Hunger Games. Even though she and Clint would be orchestrating the kids' week of training themselves, she would not allow herself to become attached to or feel sympathy for any of the kids. The closest she'd come to any sort of emotion so far was when a tiny girl from Ohio was ushered onto a stage. She couldn't have been older than twelve. Some of the kids chosen were closer to eighteen, and a couple of them looked like American football players: huge. What could such a small thing do against forces like that?

It was too much. Fuming as the commentators went on about the next state's tributes, she got up and turned to storm out of the room. The injustice of it all didn't sit too well with her. And she had to spend a week teaching that little girl what even a year's worth of training couldn't prepare her for?

A scream from the television made her turn around. "I volunteer!" The cameras zoomed in on the owner of the voice, a girl with long, braided hair. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Natasha felt her eyes go wide. Volunteer? Who would volunteer for such a fate?

"That was Katniss Everdeen," said one of the commentators, "volunteering for The Hunger Games in place of her twelve-year-old sister. The cry heard across the nation."

"Not a one of the other states had a volunteer," said the other. "To do what this young lady did…that's love, ladies and gentlemen."

She perched on a table, staring at the screen even after they'd moved on to other states' tributes. To volunteer for almost certain death spoke of either bravery or stupidity—it wasn't yet clear to Natasha which one it was. She couldn't really think of anyone she'd die for besides…

No. Staring at him though she was, she could not—_would _not—admit that to herself.

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**Reviews are appreciated. –MS-**


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, The Avengers, and any related characters or plotlines you see here. **

**Seeing as I was cheating by having this in the Avengers section, this story will be moved when the next chapter is posted to the Avengers/Hunger Games crossover section. So, if you're not getting alerts already, that's where you can find this from then on.**

* * *

**A Game of Heroes**

**Chapter Three**

His heart pounded in his ears as the style team tweaked his costume last-minute. In just minutes, they would climb into horse-drawn chariots for the parade from the newly built "Training Center" to the White House. He and a girl he didn't and probably would never get the chance to know. Finnick looked up at her as Alandis adjusted the netting around his chest. Her name was Katie. She'd been dolled up to look like a mermaid; he, a god of the sea—Poseidon, apparently. Oh well. It could have been worse, Finnick supposed. They could have decided to dress them up like one of Louisiana's main exports.

Crawfish.

Katie was looking around with wide eyes. She had to be nervous—if she wasn't, something was wrong with her. The whole nation was watching their every move from now until their imminent deaths, it seemed. And the crowds of the District of Columbia sounded the most excited. Why wouldn't they be? Their children would never be dragged into this mess.

He gave Katie another glance when he figured she wasn't going to catch him. Her eyes were such a deep green color. They reminded him of—

His heart panged. Annie. She'd shrieked when his name was called, crying so hysterically that her sobs had echoed around his head as if she had been right next to him. They still did. And while he was grateful that Annie had not been picked, he wished he was still there to hold onto her when the pain came and refused to let her go.

No one, not even Annie's parents seemed to understand what Annie went through on a daily basis. Finnick had been her one and only protector since it started gripping her, and now, she didn't even have him. Finnick knew he had to survive. If not for himself, then for Annie's sake. And if that meant he had to kill the girl with Annie's eyes, watch the light go out of them, well…Finnick would do it, if he had to. But only if there was no other way to survive.

A signal sounded, one that meant they were to climb into their chariots.

"Are you sure about this?" he heard the girl from Kentucky ask. Katniss Everdeen, he remembered, the one who'd volunteered for her sister.

"It won't burn at all," nodded her stylist. What on earth were they talking about?

The two Kentucky stylists held what looked like lighters to their tributes' capes. Finnick froze. He tugged on Katie's arm and nodded toward the Kentucky group.

"They're not," Katie said slowly.

But they were. The stylists moved away quickly as the two tributes' capes began to dance with flames.

* * *

When the noise from the crowd rose, Tony knew the tributes must have been drawing near the White House. He took a sip of his martini and rejoined the Avengers and the president on the balcony. A couple of screams sounded, and Tony chuckled to Bruce, "Guess they see Kentucky."

"What about Kentucky?" asked Natasha.

"You'll see," said Bruce, who didn't sound nearly as amused enough for Tony's liking.

Tony clapped Bruce on the back. "Lighten up, they're not killing each other yet." Captain Fabulous turned and gave Tony a glare. "What, old man?" Tony asked lightly, still smiling.

"You're too happy about this," Steve bit out.

The screams got nearer, but they were followed by even louder cheers. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Thor's jaw open a little. Natasha jumped, and Tony laughed.

"Holy shit," Clint said. "How are they not dead?"

Tony could see the gates to the White House opening for the chariots; beyond the gates, the Kentucky tributes rode with surprisingly realistic flames licking at their backs. The pair clasped each other's hands and held them high above their heads. _Cute_, Tony thought. The crowd went wild.

Bouncing a lighter similar to the ones he and Bruce had fashioned for the Kentucky stylists in his hand, Tony grinned to Clint, "Because it's not real." He moved as quickly as he could and held the lit lighter to Natasha's glove. As it began to "burn," Natasha whirled around and whacked him in the throat with her arm, knocking him on his ass.

Luckily, Tony had had the foresight to shut off the lighter before he fell. No need to accidentally set the president "on fire" or something. At the image, Tony turned his head to the side thoughtfully. _Well_, he thought, _it wouldn't _actually _hurt him…_.

But before Tony could even pick himself up, the president was standing over him. "You and Dr. Banner designed a synthetic fire?" Steele asked with something resembling a smile on his face. He offered Tony a hand.

"Yes," Tony replied, railing at the idea of even touching the man that long. If there was anyone he actually outright despised, (not Steve; Steve, he actually liked, but Tony would never let on) it was President Steele. He hadn't liked the man as a senator, and he certainly had done everything in his power to help the Democrats campaign against Steele. (Not that he'd ever had a political affiliation, he just hadn't liked the guy.) The bad feeling he'd gotten when he'd first seen Steele smile had never gone away.

And now, look where they were. Tony could only say "I told you so" to the group of somber faces he saw at SHIELD. Rather than accepting Steele's hand, he pushed himself up off the ground and got to his feet. The president dropped his hand to his side, still smiling that creepy thing that was supposed to be a smile. Steele drifted toward the microphone attached to the balcony railing as the last chariot glided into the gates. "Good evening," he said, "and happy Hunger Games!"

_Happy?_ Tony thought as the crowd roared. He himself may have made light of the Games, but Tony found nothing joyous about kids killing each other. He stepped over to Steve, turning his back on the crowd and asking through his teeth, "You got a plan to stop this thing?"

Steve looked around warily and turned away from the crowd himself. "Almost."

"What," Tony asked, "can I do to help?"

* * *

Natasha had been ranting off and on all night before he went to sleep. Most of it was about the Hunger Games, a bit of it was politics, and some of it was in such fervent Russian that he could only gather her emotions from it all. She must have talked herself out last night, because she hadn't said a thing this morning. Even as they waited on the twenty four tributes to show up for training, Nat stood with her arms crossed and a cold, stony look on her face. She still said nothing when it came time for them to talk to the kids, instead just staring at them. A couple of them squirmed uncomfortably under the power of her eyes, and Clint almost wanted to apologize for Natasha. He knew it wasn't the kids themselves making her sullen so much as the idea of what they'd be training the children for.

Clint cleared his throat. "Good morning, and welcome to your first day of training. A few things—"

"One, you will not fight another tribute during training," Natasha spoke up, her face not changing in the slightest. "There'll be plenty of time for that in the arena. You will spar with myself, Clint, or one of the other trainers here."

"Thank you, Natasha," he said, glad to hear her voice. "Behind us, you'll find a collection of weapons that might be left for you in the arena. But you're not just learning to fight this week—you'll also be learning survival skills. Ultimately, your survival skills will determine how long you last in the arena." He glanced around at the kids. A couple of the older, bulkier boys were smirking. Clint knew they wouldn't spend a lot of time on survival training. The littlest girl was nodding. He figured he'd see her at the survival stations: she was smart for her age if she knew survival was important here.

"At the end of the week," said Natasha, "you will each perform your sharpest skills for a group of people called sponsors. If a sponsor likes you, you might receive gifts during the games that will help you in the arena."

They wished them luck and dismissed them to practice. Clint hung back around the archery station, waiting to see if any of the kids would give it a try. The other weapons and fighting stations were already full. Finally, the girl who had volunteered to take her sister's place in the Games stepped up to the marked line, a bow in hand and a few arrows in a sheath on her back. He gave her a smile, and she returned it briefly. Then, she raised the bow, slid an arrow into place, let go a deep breath…and sent the arrow straight into the heart of the target.

He felt his eyes go wide. "Wait," he told her before she could loose another arrow, stepping up to the target to inspect the first shot. He squinted, letting out a low whistle. Not even the term "lucky shot" could peg this one. This girl was a damned good shot, and a deadly one, at that.

Clint strode over to her, patted her on the shoulder, and exclaimed for all who were watching, "Lucky shot, kid!" Then, he added to her quietly, "Mess the next ones up."

"What?" she asked, puzzled.

"Do you want them to see you as a threat?" he replied.

A look of realization came over the girl's face. He stepped back, and she took a shot that missed the target completely. When he was sure no one was looking, Clint gave her a thumbs-up. Yes. This all reaffirmed his early-on decision to root for Katniss Everdeen.

* * *

**Reviews are appreciated. –MS-**


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, The Avengers, and any related characters or plotlines you see here. **

**Thanks to all who have added the story to your favorites, added to your story alert list, and reviewed, especially In Pieces, Arrows the Wolf, SheWasFlying, YesterdaysFutureMemories, and ssaharadesert.  
**

**Alright, we're in our proper section, folks. If you're still with me, or even if you're new to the game (oh-ho, see what I did there), please enjoy.**

* * *

**A Game of Heroes**

**Chapter Four**

No one seemed to want to talk to Johanna. Some sneered, actually pointing their fingers in her direction and trading whispers with their temporary friends about her. Others just gave her sympathetic looks. While she didn't regret her decision to feign fainting when her name was called, Johanna did wish she had at least one person to talk to. They were all sort of stuck in the same situation, weren't they? The least someone could do was make friendly conversation, even if he or she did end up introducing her to death.

The fighting and weaponry stations (with the exception of the archery station, which no one had quite yet figured out) stayed full, with waits in lines that would last at least fifteen minutes. While Johanna was waiting at the hand-to-hand combat station, a tall, bulky guy from Texas stepped up and pointed out the Black Widow. "I want her," he said.

Up until that point, no one had dared asked the woman to train with them. Without so much as a change of expression, Romanoff separated herself from the wall she'd been holding up. She stepped forward onto the mat and waited. The boy paced back and forth for a few moments, as if trying to decide which way was best to attack. Johanna would have been frightened, herself. Seeing the Black Widow in action on the television was a scary sight indeed. For so small a woman, she could take down such huge enemies without even raising a weapon.

The Texas boy went with an apparent attempt on Romanoff's chest. Romanoff swiftly met him head-on, stunned him with a jab to the ear, and flipped him over her shoulder onto his back without so much as a glance back to see how he'd fared. The room went silent.

"Anyone else?" Romanoff asked with the finality of someone who knew her challenge wouldn't be answered.

The Texas boy still wasn't moving. A couple of guys moved forward, heads down, to help the boy off the mat. Upon seeing them, he began to pick himself up. "I'm fine," he snapped, swatting at one of their hands.

"Sorry, Cato," the offender replied, backing off with his hands raised in a defensive position.

Johanna got that eerie feeling that she was being watched. She looked up to find Cato himself staring her down with a smirk. Her fingers suddenly longed for the comforting weight of her favorite ax. Cato. Johanna decided she didn't like this…Cato. If he thought he could take on the Black Widow, how would he handle being face-to-face with someone like Johanna in the arena? She knew that if it came down to it, she could not hesitate to lodge an ax or whatever long-handled blade she could get her hands on in Cato's skull.

When Johanna's turn came, she was met by an average-sized young man who couldn't have been older than twenty. He was polite, making light conversation as he led her through a set of stretches. By the time they got to some basic moves, Johanna felt a little less lonely than she'd been feeling. She knew she couldn't exactly make friends with someone she'd see only briefly every day for a week, but at last, someone was talking to her.

After a couple of rounds of using the basic moves she'd just learned, the trainer stopped her and took her off to the side. "You're not fighting as hard as you could. Are you scared you'll hurt me?" he asked quietly.

She thought about it and shook her head. Not fighting as hard as she could? Johanna thought she'd been doing fine, for her skill level.

He frowned, his eyes seeming to search her face for something. Finally, he said, "Isn't there someone you'd like to see again?"

Someone she'd like to see again? Johanna's mind went to the night her dad had climbed up into the tree and sat there talking to her. The hug he'd given her before letting her get in line at the Capitol square. The rare tears he'd cried when they'd had a few minutes to say good-bye. "My dad," she whispered.

"How much do you want to see him again?" asked the trainer.

"A lot," Johanna replied.

The trainer nodded. "Think about this. I'm the one between you and seeing your dad again." He started to back away onto the mat. "How hard are you going to fight me?"

Johanna blinked. She hadn't thought of it like that. She'd spent the past couple of weeks coming to terms with the fact that she was going to die. Last night, after a day of watching the others tributes master the various skill stations, she'd accepted her impending death. But all she had to do was fight hard enough and she'd get back to her dad? Johanna stepped back onto the mat and braced herself. She was going to put up the fight of her life.

They circled each other for a moment before the trainer lunged forward with an attack. Johanna sidestepped him like her life depended on it, spinning around so that he couldn't take her by surprise from behind. When his right fist went for her stomach, Johanna brought up her hand and parried the blow. Then, she surprised herself by slipping her other arm past his free arm and punching the trainer's rock-hard stomach. She didn't allow herself time to cringe in pain for her hand. Her dad on her mind, she advanced her position with a couple more well-placed blows. She was about to try and land a third when the trainer leapt backward out of her reach and said, "Good! Much better. We'll continue tomorrow, okay, Johanna?"

With a nod, Johanna made her way off the mat area and looked around. Everyone was more spread out now. Which station should she do next, she wondered. She let herself drift around for a while before coming to a stop at the empty rope-tying station. The instructor welcomed her with a smile and walked her through a couple of knots. Then, when another girl walked up, the instructor started her on a more complicated knot before tending to the other girl. For the life of her, Johanna just couldn't get this one. She looked up to get the instructor's help, but she was still taking the other girl through the first couple of knots. Frustrated, Johanna started over.

"You're missing a step," said a distinctly Southern voice in her ear. She turned to find a tall, blonde-haired guy next to her. He held out his hand for the rope. A little surprised, Johanna handed it to him. Within seconds, he produced the more complicated knot the instructor had only just shown her. He held it up for Johanna to inspect. "See?"

"How'd you do that?" Johanna asked, aghast.

The boy smiled. "I spent last summer on a fishing boat. Knots like that come in handy." He extended a hand. "Finnick Odair."

"Johanna Mason," she said, shaking his hand.

"Aren't you the one who—"

"Fainted?" Johanna interrupted him, blushing. "Yeah."

He let her hand go with a deep laugh. "Don't worry about it. The Games are scary as hell. I couldn't blame you."

Johanna gave him a smile. She hadn't seen this guy hanging around with anyone so far. Perhaps she'd just made a friend? "Can you show me that knot again?"

* * *

Steve cleared his throat as Tony slipped into the room behind Bruce and shut the door. "Alright," said Steve, getting out of his chair and to his feet. It was the eve of The Hunger Games, and finally, it looked as though his plan might fall into place. The plan had been a stretch, at first, dependent on so many variables that it bordered on unrealistic. But now, after giving the Avengers some secret individual assignments, things seemed like they very well could come together. Everyone had quickly agreed that something needed to be done about The Hunger Games, and Steve was grateful for their enthusiasm. He couldn't be more proud of the team, actually. "Are we blacked out?" he asked Tony.

"Sound and tech-proof, boss man," Tony confirmed. "Only I could break into this room now. And, well, I'm already here."

No truly derogatory or undermining comments. Steve was slightly impressed with Tony's good behavior. "Okay. Give me the low-down on the arena, Natasha."

Pressing a button underneath the table, Natasha made a three-dimensional holographic map appear over the table. "Thanks to the information Tony provided, we can see that the arena is a forest set-up containing a field at the center. This field is where the initial action will take place."

"Initial action?" Bruce reiterated.

Natasha's lip twitched, as if about to downturn into a frown. "A weapons and supply cache will be placed in the middle of the field. At the start of the Games, the kids will be released into the field all at once."

"To converge on the weapons?" Thor asked. "Surely only madness can ensue."

This time, Natasha did frown. Steve raised an eyebrow in surprise. A show of emotion? From Natasha? Things were definitely bad. Natasha went on, "There will be a force field enclosing the arena that we'll have to penetrate in order to get in."

"Tony, Bruce," said Steve. "How are we doing that?"

"Well," said Tony, "seeing as the government made the mistake of asking Stark Industries to design said force field…and let's face it, who else could go around spitting out force fields these days?"

"All we'll need," Bruce took over, "Is a device Tony and I designed ourselves."

"Great," Steve said, staring into the blue glow of the map of the arena for a moment. He snapped out of it and said, "Clint, what's our plan for getting to the arena?"

"Nat and I are working on finding a pilot we can trust," Clint said, "But we'll be able to get there using the coordinates Stark gave us. Shouldn't be any problems."

"Good," Steve said. "Now, because they want our reactions on camera at the start of the Games…." Steve hung his head and sighed heavily. "We won't be able to save them all. But we've got to save as many as we can once they let us go.

"We're not going to drop into the middle of the arena," he said, walking around the table until he was at a certain spot on the map. "We'll enter…here," he pointed to one side of the forest. Everyone leaned in so they could see. Much to his gratitude, Natasha clicked a couple of buttons and magnified the region. "We'll then work our way through the forest and try to find as many of the kids as possible.

"If we're caught in the process of breaking in, we almost certainly face the government's mercy. If anyone wants out, no one will think less of you."

Tony snorted. "_I'll _think less of you." Steve glared in Tony's direction.

No one spoke. Steve looked around at each of them. He hadn't expected anyone to speak up, but he would have understood had they done so: he hadn't said so exactly, but if they were caught, they would probably face death. That they did so for twenty-four children spoke to the true character of each and every person in the room.

* * *

**Note: No offense to those from Texas!**

**Reviews are appreciated and get you your story faster. Also, reviews make me squee. Just saying. –MS-**


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, The Avengers, and any related characters or plotlines you see here. **

**Thanks to all who have put the story on your favorites or follow list, and special thanks to those who've reviewed, including In Pieces, x-shutter-bug-x, Arrows the Wolf, YesterdaysFutureMemories, SheWasFlying, and Steve R. **

**This chapter is more Hunger Games heavy. The Avengers will return in chapter six, fear not.**

* * *

**A Game of Heroes**

**Chapter Five**

He couldn't help a smile as he watched the feeds of the various tributes. Some were pacing, some hyperventilating. A few were even feigning calm, no doubt for the benefit of their personal stylists—the only ones allowed in the rooms beneath the arena with the tributes. But those few were far from having him fooled. He knew the turmoil that must have been wringing their insides, tying them into knots.

"Two minutes 'til showtime," announced his senior technician, Maria. "Signaling tributes into the tubes in thirty seconds."

He gave a nod, his gaze coming to rest on the feed of Katniss Everdeen. The girl on fire, some had taken to calling her. She had heart, this he had to admit—very few would have volunteered for such a fate. And such a shot with a bow and arrow! She'd nearly sent an arrow right into his head two days ago, instead skillfully shooting an apple out of his raised hand. Having the sponsors rank her an eleven out of twelve had been the only logical response. Why not let the other tributes know that there was a real threat in their midst? Level the playing field, as it were? All eyes would be on her, anyway. Why not give them something to watch?

"They're in the tubes."

He drifted toward the largest screen in the control room, where tributes began to rise out of the ground and into the arena. His smile grew. The fear. The determination. The energy. So many emotions for the cameras to drink in. Twenty-four sets of eyes came to rest on the veritable armory before them. _And so it begins_, he thought as the countdown dwindled.

* * *

The trainers had told them only a few things about the arena. All of the tributes, they'd said, would start out equidistant from a collection of supplies and weapons called "the Cornucopia." If anyone moved off of his or her individual platform prior to the end of the initial countdown, a landmine would be triggered. Other than that and reminding them that survival skills would be key, the trainers had had nothing else to say about the arena or the Games. Finnick wasn't reassured in the slightest. Of course, he doubted there was anything anyone could do or say at the moment that could reassure him. A hug from Annie, maybe. At least when he had her in his arms, all was right with the world.

_"You have three minutes."_

_ She rushed at him like they were magnets of opposing poles, clinging to him and sobbing hysterically. He wanted to cry, himself. These were probably the last moments he'd ever spend with his Annie. But he knew better than to shed a single tear: responding with anything less than a positive outlook would only leave Annie in a dark place. Instead, he did his best to be brave. "I don't know what you're all worked up about. I'll be back to you in no time," he said._

_ She sniffled, looking up at him with those big, beautiful green eyes. "You will?"_

_ "Of course." He smoothed her hair down and kissed the top of her head. "I have this pretty amazing girl I'll be fighting for. You might know her."_

_ Smiling through her tears, Annie gave him a squeeze. "She hopes you're right." He rocked her back and forth. _So do I, _he thought to himself. _So do I.

A dinging sound brought Finnick back to reality. "It's time," said Alandis, nodding to the tube that would take Finnick up into the arena. Finnick looked back at Alandis as his heart began to pound loudly in his ears. Alandis gave him a nudge in the direction of the tube, and he trudged toward it. Better to go willingly than to have the solemn looking guards outside force him into the tube.

Some cool, female voice began to count down from five just as he slipped into the almost too narrow tube. When she reached one, the little circular disc he was standing on began to rise—and him, with it. He kept his eyes locked on Alandis for as long as he could; the stylist was likely the last friendly face he'd see. Then, darkness. He must have been passing through solid ground. Finally, his head met fresh air and blinding light. Finnick raised his arms to shield his eyes.

Once the disc came to a stop and his eyes adjusted to the light, he dropped his arms and looked around him. The other tributes seemed just as disoriented as he was. They were in the middle of a field surrounded by trees. So they'd have a forest to hide in. He nodded. That could work; he and his father took regular hunting trips.

Hunting…people. Finnick found himself shuddering as the voice of the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, started counting backward from sixty. Even though he'd spent a week training for it, Finnick still couldn't wrap his mind around the concept. While many would probably die here at the beginning, it would all essentially come down to hunting.

His eyes met those of the girl he'd become friends with during training, Johanna. Her eyes were wide, and she seemed to be breathing rapidly. He gave her a smile as he might have done if it'd been his little sister whose eyes were locked with his. A flash of a smile answered him.

"Thirty. Twenty-nine."

Finnick turned his attention to the Cornucopia ahead of him, which was literally shaped like a cornucopia. There were backpacks and other supplies laid out closer to the tributes. Farther away, inside the actual Cornucopia, was a shining collection of weapons. Finnick knew he wanted at least one close range and one long range weapon. Beyond that, he wasn't very picky.

"Eighteen. Seventeen."

He took a couple of deep breaths, his eyes focusing on the huge assortment of knives as he tried to think about who else might be going for them. That girl from Texas, maybe. Clove. The first thing she'd done at training was pick up a set of throwing knives and toss them at a target as easily as if they were darts. How any parent would allow their child to take up such a hobby was beyond Finnick. At any rate, he'd just have to arm himself before she even touched the knives.

"Seven. Six."

Finnick braced himself, getting ready to run as soon as the clock above the Cornucopia ran out and Crane said the words "Let The Hunger Games begin!" He couldn't hold back; he had to make this the run of his life. His life actually depended upon it.

"Three. Two."

One more deep breath. He envisioned Annie's smiling face, his reward for surviving this madness. He couldn't imagine the pain she'd endure if he was killed on television right before her eyes.

"Let The Hunger Games…begin!"

Leaping from his platform, Finnick zigged and zagged through the supplies and backpacks, promising himself he'd try to grab a backpack and maybe the coil of rope he'd spotted on his way into the forest.

He wasn't the first to reach the wall of knives; Clove was there, strategically slipping a myriad of knives into her jacket's pockets. She looked up at him as he reached for a long-bladed dagger. Both of them froze, and he looked into her eyes for a moment. He could almost see something change as she tilted her head to the side, and he didn't need to see more. He snatched the dagger off the wall, readying himself to use it. In the next moment, Clove turned and ran.

He stared after Clove for only a handful of seconds. Perhaps she'd seen in his eyes that he was willing to use the dagger. Perhaps she'd simply been uncomfortable being too close to throw a knife and put the proper momentum behind it. Whatever her reason, Finnick was still alive. Letting out a breath of relief, Finnick heard someone behind him and whirled around to find Clove's fellow tribute from Texas, Cato, with his hand extended. A spray of blood streaked his face. Finnick shivered. The two of them were comparable in size, both bulky but obviously in shape. "Friends?" Cato asked, a smile on his face.

Finnick just stared at the boy's hand, knowing that such a truce would only end with Finnick getting killed in his sleep. He knew Cato's type; guys like Cato only made friends when there was something to be gained from the friendship. Saying no, however, promised a fight to the death would ensue. "Uh…" Before Finnick could respond, however, something behind him caught Cato's attention. Cato pressed forward and shoved Finnick out of his way.

When Finnick turned around, he found Cato was standing over Johanna, whom he'd knocked to the ground. Johanna was looking at Finnick in horror. Finnick quickly analyzed the situation. Johanna had genuinely wanted to be his friend; Cato just wanted him in a position where he could kill him when he'd outlived his usefulness as a "friend." As Cato raised his sword, Finnick did the only thing he could: he threw his weight into Cato, ramming him into the wall of weaponry. Johanna let out a scream as Finnick grabbed Cato by his hair and slammed his head into the wall. Cato crumpled to the ground.

It was pure luck, Finnick knew, that he'd caught Cato by surprise like that. He watched as Johanna picked up the ax she'd dropped and scrambled to her feet. She held the ax in a defensive position.

"It's alright," he said, holding up his hands in a friendly manner. "But we should go."

Johanna started to say something but then paused. She took a moment before she nodded and, ax gripped in her right hand, ran out from under the Cornucopia. Finnick followed, shouting after her, "Pick up a backpack!" As she followed his orders, Finnick stopped and yanked the coil of rope he'd seen earlier out from under a girl's still body. He was about to move on when he noticed the girl's now lifeless eyes. Deep green.

Katie. His fellow Louisiana tribute.

The pause almost cost him. Something whipped past his ear. He looked around quickly to find the source. A blonde girl was lowering a bow with a disappointed look upon her face. He laughed briefly; she was close enough that she should have made that shot. Not sticking around to allow her a chance to reload, Finnick turned and dashed for the nearest remaining backpack. He didn't even stop running as he scooped it up and threw it onto his shoulder.

Johanna was fast, but he somehow managed to keep her in his sights. They went deep into the forest before they finally stopped. Finnick doubled over from the effort of running the uneven terrain. They both panted for a few moments before she asked, "Why'd you save me?"

He glanced sidelong at her. "Seemed right."

She gazed at him. "One of us has to die."

Still breathing heavily, Finnick met her eyes with his. "Not right now, we don't."

She gave him a smile to show she wasn't serious. "I didn't say when."

"Tell you what, Johanna," he said, bringing himself to his full height. "If it comes down to it, will you give me a ten second head start?"

"Sure," she laughed. He laughed, too. "I can throw this thing pretty far, though." Johanna hefted the ax in her hand with another laugh. That, Finnick didn't find so funny.

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**Reviews are appreciated and get you your story faster. Just saying. –MS-**


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